


Smooth

by megyal



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-23
Updated: 2008-08-23
Packaged: 2017-10-29 12:52:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal





	Smooth

So they locked Andy out of his own fucking house.

The _chain_ was on when Andy keyed the front door and shoved it; the door jerked open just a couple of inches and Andy cursed colourfully as he saw the silver chain pulled taut.

"Who the fuck put the chain on!" Andy yelled through the narrow wedge of space. "Matt! Come take this chain off, man."

There was the sound of pounding footsteps and Andy blinked as one dark eye peered down at him through the narrow aperture.

"Can I help you?" Matt's voice rumbled politely out and Andy stared up at his face in confusion.

"Can you-- yeah, you can _open_ this _door_. I'm fucking tired man, come on." He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, poking at his luggage with one foot. It was fairly early in the morning and Andy felt the jetlag crawling through his bones, the hours from here to LA rolling up on him like a relentless wave.

"I'm sorry, sir," Matt said, his voice full of laughter. Andy could see his stupid flower tattoo flourishing on the brown skin of his shoulder, and one of his gauges glittering in the morning light. "But we don't serve your kind here."

Andy fumed. "Are you _on_ something? What the hell are you talking about?"

Matt stared at the lower half of his face; his gaze was so intent, Andy barely refrained from squirming. Instead, he stood on his own fucking front porch like some Avon lady, arms crossed over his chest and giving Matt the best _I-will-fuck-you-up_ glare he had in his arsenal. Unfortunately, Matt was well acquainted with all of Andy's expressions; Andy could just see the edge of his shit-eating grin.

"Bigfoot," Matt explained airily and Andy's confusion appeared to reach monumental proportions. "Or, his smaller relative, The Tiny Wildman of Wisconsin."

"You must be _drunk_ ," Andy concluded, wondering if he should just go around back. He _could_ , but it was the principle of the whole thing. "I knew you'd start drinking at the bar, didn't I tell you that'll happen and now you're talking crazy shit at six in the fucking morni--"

"The thing that's hibernating on your face right now," Matt said calmly and pushed the door forward a little to unhook the chain. "It can't come in here. It might escape and eat the rest of us, or something."

It had been a long time since Andy actually gaped at someone, so it kind of felt weird on his face. "Okay," he said slowly, "I _know_ you're not talking about the beard."

"That's not a beard." Matt reached out and grabbed the handle of his luggage, dragging it just inside the door. "That's another life-form. Shave, Hurley," he said and slammed the door back in Andy's face.

*

So Andy had to slink around the back of the house like a loser, grumbling all the way. He tumbled into the kitchen, where Matt was drinking water from a large glass, eyeing him over the rim of it.

"I'm going to kill you, Mixon," Andy promised him as Ryan stumbled downstairs, rubbing at his eyes; he then stared at Andy, who narrowed his own eyes.

"Jesus," Ryan breathed. "Were you cast _away_?"

"What is this fucking obsession with my damn beard?" Andy snapped. "And, you know, I don't think people with retarded tigers on their chests have room to talk, here."

Ryan pouted. "Dude, don't harsh on my ink. And you don't want to get me started on that cowboy thing you--"

"All I'm saying," Matt cut in, "is that you look like some hobo. Seriously, I can't stand it."

"Why do you _care_?" Andy looked around for his luggage to carry up to his room, but he saw no sign of it. Matt must have brought it up already. "Look. Here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to go up the stairs, get a nice shower, get into bed and ignore you all for the next forty-eight hours."

"And shave."

"Fuck you, Matt," Andy breathed out and spun on his heel, stalking towards the staircase. He had his foot on the first step when Matt spoke up in a considering tone.

"You know what weirds me out? It's like, you have no hair on the rest of your body. It all just... _congregates_ on your face."

"Keep your eyes off my body, Mixon," Andy returned quickly. " _That_ weirds me out, you watching me constantly. Stalker."

Matt rolled his eyes and waved Andy off. "Dude, you _wish_ you were weirded out by that."

Andy suppressed a childish urge to stick out his tongue, or throw the framed photograph on the wall, but he simply gave Matt a sour glance and stomped his way upstairs, hoping he'd get everyone else up with all the noise he was making.

He was standing at the door to the bathroom, gaping for the second fucking time, because there was a plethora of shaving implements placed neatly on the counter on a folded white towel.

"See," Matt said right behind him; Andy turned his head and glared up at his teasing face. "You can't use an ordinary Gillette on that, dude. You need, like, the shaving equivalent of a bushwhacker."

Andy opened his mouth to let out a stream of curses and then took a deep breath instead. He closed his eyes and counted to ten; then he counted to twenty, in double-time. When he finally dragged himself from a towering, exhaustion-fueled rage to a calmer state, he sighed and opened his eyes, turning his head to find Matt watching him with his usual smirk.

"This is important to you?" he asked and Matt's dark eyebrows drew together. "I don't give a fuck over some ridiculous Western cultural ritual, honestly, but if you're going to get all nervous over it, _fine_."

"I'm not _nervous_ over it!" Matt exclaimed as Andy strode towards the bathtub, yanking off his t-shirt with a grimace and starting to pull open his jeans. Matt eyed him warily. "Dude, when I said _shave_ , I meant--"

"I'm taking a shower," Andy said shortly. "That was a part of my whole plan. You can stay right there if you want, I know you have a thing for my body."

Instead of firing back something smart backed up with his huge, snide laugh, Matt simply wrinkled his nose at him before backing out slowly and closing the door. Andy, who was honestly getting tired of gaping, he had a feeling it was an expression that made him look even more weird than usual, simply stripped all the way down to skin, dumped his clothes in the hamper and rummaged in the narrow closet for a massively fluffy towel.

*

He was standing at the bathroom sink, the towel wrapped around his hips and inspecting the currently bladeless razor when someone tapped on the door and Matt poked his head in at Andy's call.

"I am here to help, O Bearded One," he intoned dramatically.

"It's not the first time I ever grew a beard," Andy sighed. "This might come as a shock to you, but I think I can manage."

"No, no, dude, you can't do it the way I can." Matt slipped in and reached out, grabbing at the razor and patting a clear space on the long bathroom countertop that they'd had installed after they'd moved in. "Look at my face. This face is evidence of my awesome shaving skills, so hop on up, Wildman."

Reluctantly, Andy turned and stepped back, sitting up on the top of the counter as Matt loaded a double-edged blade deftly, filling the sink with hot water.

"Here." Matt tossed a small black shaving gel bottle at him. "Try this new one. I checked online, if it had any animal products in it. It's cool, dude."

"Oh." Andy flipped open the top and squeezed out a healthy amount. He rubbed it vigorously into his damp beard. "I don't know what the big production is all about," he grumbled. "There's always soap."

"Shut your mouth," Matt said affectionately and stepped close. Andy actually had to part his legs a little, and before he could think about how close Matt really was, Matt's fingers were at his chin, tipping his face up a little. "Sure you trust me with a sharp blade near your neck?" Matt joked.

"Of course I trust you." Well, that came out a little too easily, so he added, "you stupid fuck," but Matt simply gave him a huge grin and began, using light, careful strokes.

Matt, who didn't know how to keep his mouth shut, talked quietly as he worked. "I used to watch my grandfather use this straight razor, my dad's dad."

"Hmm," Andy offered, keeping his eyes shut and being aware of Matt standing right between his bare legs, his fingers lightly touching Andy's chin, turning his face slightly this way and that.

"Yeah, he'd totally curse me out for trying to take it out and play with it. He would be like, 'Dammit, boy! That shit be _sharp_!' He was super-cranky, you'd love him." Matt rinsed the blade out and went on with his work. Andy let his eyes slit open, breathing out slowly as he watched the concentration on Matt's face. He'd heard of Matt's grandpa before and it never got old, the way Matt would mimic his gruff voice.

"I don't know what he did with it," Matt mused and he brushed his thumb across Andy's cheek, almost against his mouth. Andy's eyes snapped open and Matt was looking right back, a small smile curling at the edge of his mouth, before he returned to shaving. "I guess they must have tossed it when he died, or something."

Andy kept staring at him until he was done, even when he handed Andy a small towel to wipe his face.

"There," Matt said, "Now you're like the epitome of useless Western cultural rituals. Good day, fine sir." He made to step away, but Andy pressed his legs together against Matt's thighs, stopping him. Matt's dark gaze was steady, but he remained still.

"Thanks."

Matt gave him an eyebrow and a slow, smug smile. "Look, thank me if you're going to thank me, man," and Andy gritted his teeth, because there was nothing more annoying sometimes than having someone who knew you too well. Matt just kept smiling, even when Andy leaned forward almost begrudgingly, hands gripping the edge of the counter-top tightly. Matt let him wait for about three seconds, before leaning down and brushing their mouths together.

Andy leaned his head to one side and parted his lips, sighing when Matt's tongue flicked in almost shyly. He groaned a little when Matt pulled away and wondered just how his arms had gotten wrapped so tightly around Matt's neck.

"Yeah," Matt said breathlessly, untangling himself and managing to pull away completely this time. "I really couldn't deal with all that getting in my way when I needed a kiss. I would fear for my life."

Andy made sure to kick him in the ass when he turned around and Matt exited with a braying laugh. Andy rolled his eyes and hopped off the counter, taking a good look at himself in the mirror.

He suddenly gave himself a wicked, content grin. He _figured_ it would have driven Matt crazy to see that beard, from all the doubtful phone-calls he'd received when he was away. It hadn't even been a hardship to keep, even through Patrick's constant jealous mutterings over his ability to be so very bearded in so little time.

 _Smooth, Hurley_ , he told himself and strode out still clad in just his towel, heading to Matt's predictably open room-door.

Pretty smooth.


End file.
